We're Coming for Blood
by dearjenna
Summary: A one shot based on Bellatrix's devotion for Voldemort, set during their storm of the wizarding world and the Battle at Hogwarts.


**A/N: Here's another one shot. Please leave reviews. **

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"We're Coming For Blood"

.~.-.~.

_There's a humming in the restless summer air_  
_And we're slipping off the course that we prepared_  
_But in all chaos, there is calculation_  
_Dropping glasses just to hear them break_

They bend where most break, and swarm the skies like smoke signaling a fire. They once stood in fear and now stand in grace. She looks to him with an adulterous lust that he only adores in her wake. He lifts his hand, delicately bound to the wooden sword he elegantly wields and lets loose a curse from his lips and his weapon, blasting a man from innocence to death—swift and unyielding. She smiles and the rest smile, too. This is their moment—he'll be there to lead them all to their post, their rightful place. They march through the streets of London, because they know of the war they have created, and they intend to see it through to the end.

Men, women and children scream and cry as they try to flee their homes for safer ground, but these demons know more tricks than man—their reach is stronger, their faces are hidden by a symbol of rigid darkness that cripples the weak whom lay eyes on them. The man and his charming serpent glide the streets—his arm around the lusting whore, and teeth gritting at the scene. They consume the smell of death, tasting it on their tongues.

_And the cry goes out_  
_They lose their minds for us_  
_And how it plays out _  
_Now we're in the ring_  
_And we're coming for blood_

But the moment that his eye catches another, her fantasies are gone—his touch lost to her forever until he looks for her once more. But he'll never look to her the way she wants. That's the scathing, grime-y truth of them all—there are no morals, few loyalties and few bonds to most. Protection is usually by way of obligation or curse; others are taken care of soon. Yet, in her own blinding love, she would never believe that he wouldn't look onto her as a man would a woman. To her, he was the man who called her his most trusted and loyal—_his favorite._ But he wasn't a man—no longer a body with a spirit guiding him. No longer human in any way—not even in his post-pubescent years before he sealed away too much of his soul.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: a savior for the dark and spiteful, greedy foe for the rest. He wants the recognition the way she wants his love.

His Bella: The one who lies at night worshiping his every move with nothing to show for it but years of solitude and list of murders that were leading ever closer to her own looming death. He won't bat an eye in the end, but he'll be gone, too.

In a fog of black cloaks—tattered and torn—the Death Eaters come quickly and destroy what's left of a hallowed ground where children have played, and where they once played, too. Poisoned minds invade and endanger a movement for a kinder world, destroying anyone of any age that dares to stand in the way—parents left at home wondering if their sons and daughters are okay, some lying in their kitchen floors now, their last thoughts lingered towards their children, too. It's a hunt for the purest and an elimination of the weak. Bellatrix looks to the wizard once a fine, young man named Tom Riddle, and smiles. They are ready for this. She waits for orders.

_You could try and take us_  
_But we're the gladiators_  
_Everyone a rager_  
_But secretly they're saviors_  
_Glory and gore go hand-in-hand_  
_That's why we're making headlines_  
_You could try and take us_  
_But victory's contagious_

She stands in the "Great Hall" now, a place of nightmares for a sickened mind where ideas of diversity bred as they all drank from the same cup—she would have much rather eaten alone than sit feet from another less-worthy. But now she was older and she could end it now. Bellatrix spotted one from a family marked as the worst of them all. A stout mother screamed in her direction, but Bellatrix didn't react in time—she was still laughing in the little Weasley's pathetic direction. She lifted her wand, but never guessed that her unrequited lover's first demise would be her own.


End file.
